


Guardian Angel

by TarvaBaggins



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarvaBaggins/pseuds/TarvaBaggins
Summary: Something wanders in the Old Forest…some say it is a ghost, some say a frightful monster…all the tales make it as tall as a tree.  But what is it really?
Relationships: Beleg Cúthalion & Original Male Character(s)





	Guardian Angel

_Lost…lost…lost…_

Was it only in his imagination, or were the trees really whispering? Manwise looked up into the creaking boughs, and immediately the patch of leaves directly overhead shook themselves as if in mean laughter, showering him with a deluge of water, drenching any bit of him that wasn’t wet already from the constant taunting drops that fell as thickly through the dark canopy as if it hadn’t even been there. He was miserable, and cold, and wishing he had never come; and on top of all that he was lonely. He would have asked a friend to come with him, but he had none…none that liked him enough to brave the Old Forest with him, anyway.

Was night coming? Or was the darkness just from the storm? Either way, the path was gone, or it had never been there in the first place, as his cousin Milo had warned him with a significant look.

_“There is no path, Mannie. The Forest likes to make you think there is one, and it leads you to terrible places and then leaves you, and the ghost comes and catches you.”_

_“And then what?”_

_“Mmm…nobody knows. Nobody ever comes back to tell.”_

_“What does the ghost look like?”_

_“Nobody knows that either. But it’s tall, something like four times as tall as me. No, ten times. Taller’n a oak tree.”_

_Then Manwise had left, but Milo had called a last shot after him in a most vexing way:_

_“Don’t go in there, Mannie. Nobody’ll ever see you again.”_

And it seemed he was right. No one would ever see him again. He hadn’t brought anything to eat, and he hadn’t brought any warm clothes, and his feet were tired. The path had vanished long ago, and he had turned around so many times trying to point himself in the right direction back to the Hedge that it was a hundred to one that he would ever make it out and see the sky again. All he wanted was to curl up at the foot of one of the monstrous trees and die. Even at the thought of it, a tear rolled down his cheek, indistinguishable from the raindrops; and before he knew it he was sobbing out loud, his eyes shut tight to block out the sight of the never-ending forest, even though when he did so he stumbled. At last he struck his leg against a fallen branch and fell flat on his face among the wet leaves. He didn’t stand up again, but lay there shaking with sobs. This seemed as good a place to die as any. No one would ever find him anyhow. He didn’t move until all at once he felt a touch on his shoulder and heard a voice speaking.

It took him a moment to realize that the words were in the common tongue, for the accent was very thick and like nothing he had heard before in all his life. Frightened half to death, Manwise sprang to his feet and was a good ten yards away before he turned around. But if he had been afraid before, now he was terrified. Milo’s tales of the ghost had not been very far from the truth after all: it _was_ just as tall as a tree…no, it was taller…taller than if all the hobbits in Buckland stood on each other’s shoulders. Manwise thought he would faint. But suddenly memories of old stories came flooding into his head: stories of last stands and bravery even in hopelessness, read to him by one of his older cousins from the creaky books on Grandfather’s shelves. Gritting his teeth, Manwise reached down and caught up an old branch off the ground, hoisting it over his shoulder like a club. It was so heavy it nearly threw him off balance, but he set his feet well apart and glared at the ghost through the tears that still brimmed in his eyes.

“Hey…hey…” the ghost’s voice said softly. It sounded in a way like the forest itself, like little spring waterfalls and autumn leaves and summer winds all at once. Very slowly the ghost knelt down and pushed back the hood of its cloak, revealing long, glossy brown hair, most of it pulled back except for a tousled forelock that fell between gentle grey eyes. “Hey,” the ghost said again, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Manwise, wide-eyed, held his club poised to swing at a moment’s notice. “Can you understand me?” Still Manwise stood frozen, unable to speak. A puzzled expression crossed the ghost’s face, and then it spoke in a language that Manwise had never heard before. Somehow it seemed to fit the voice better.

_“Pedil edhellen? Av-'osto. Odulen an edraith anlen.”_

Manwise shook his head and confusion. But when the ghost slowly extended one hand, palm up, Manwise swung his club at it—even though he was much too far away for it to do any good. The surprised look that came across the ghost’s face, however, sent a rush of fierce joy through Manwise’s heart.

“There! See? I’m not afraid of you,” he said in a thin voice that quavered in spite of his best efforts to keep it steady.

“It’s…not that,” said the ghost in the common speech, his eyes suddenly vacant as if he was seeing something far away. There was a silence, and Manwise sniffled, trying bravely to hold back the frightened tears that were still trying to escape.

“I—I know who you are,” he managed to say at last.

“You do?” the ghost asked, his focus coming suddenly back to the hobbit. “Who am I?”

“You’re the ghost that lives in these woods that takes anyone who’s lost and…and does something to them so that they never go back home.”

“A ghost?” Again the grey eyes became distant, but still they looked at Manwise. “Yes, I suppose I can see that I might in a way be called a ghost, though not in the way that you are thinking. But even a ghost was someone once, hmm?”

“I…I guess so.” Rubbing a grimy hand across his freckled nose (red from crying), Manwise managed to ask, “So who are you?”

“I’m Beleg.”

* * * * *

The little fellow was not dressed for the weather, Beleg could see that much. He didn’t even have a jacket on, only a shirt and pair of loose trousers. Beleg wondered why his parents had let him come into the woods at all—if they knew. No, of course they didn’t know. Always before when he had seen and heard young halflings in these woods they had seemed to be there without permission. It made sense: even Beleg might have hesitated to come to a place so dark if he were so small. And this one was the smallest he had seen yet, and he was lost. No doubt his family was worried, very worried indeed. Beleg’s first thought was to take the little halfling back to the Gate right away. But there was something in those bright eyes, half-drowned in tears, that tugged at his heart, and something painfully familiar in the way the tangled black curls hung dripping over the thin, muddy face, that begged within the elf, _not yet_.

“There now,” he said after a moment. “I’ve told you my name. What is yours?”

“Manwise,” the halfling replied. “Manwise Evergard.”

“Manwise, I’m not a ghost. I’m not going to hurt you. See? I’m an elf.” He pushed aside a lock of his light brown hair to trace a long, tapered ear.

“An elf? Like in the stories?”

“I expect there are stories about us, yes.”

Manwise let down his guard slightly and the club drooped. “Are there…stories about _you_?”

“Ghost stories at least, it would seem, among the halflings,” replied Beleg with a strange little laugh as he pulled his hood back up over his head. “Although I haven’t heard of any other stories about me in particular, and I imagine if there were, the halflings would not know them.”

“What are halflings?”

“You’re a halfling.”

“I’m a hobbit.”

“A hobbit?”

“It’s what we call ourselves.”

“Well,” said Beleg gravely, “I’m glad to know that. No one ever told me before. Would you rather I call you a hobbit instead of a halfling?”

“Well, we call ourselves hobbits.” By now Manwise had stopped crying.

“Then I’ll call you a hobbit,” Beleg said. “But you are a wet hobbit, from standing in the rain. Where is your jacket?”

“I left it at home. I did not know it would rain today.”

“Then here,” said Beleg, holding out a corner of his cloak to create a little sheltered bit of ground beside him. “Come stand under this. It’s plenty big enough for both of us, and you’ll be warmer and drier.” Manwise took a hesitant step toward him and lowered his club, then stopped.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Beleg said. “I just don’t want you standing in the rain. Here, wait,” he said suddenly, reaching for the clasp that fastened the cloak. “I’ll just give it to you and you can stay over there.”

“No, it’s alright,” Manwise said. “I’ll come.” He didn’t even need to duck as he passed under the edge of the cloak even though the elf was crouched down low, sitting on his heels. Manwise sat down next to the elf, not minding the wet ground.

“You live on the other side of the Gate, I suppose,” Beleg suggested.

“Yes.” Suddenly Manwise’s eyes brightened. “Do you know where that is?”

“Of course. I live in this forest. And I can take you back there once you’ve had a chance to dry off a bit.”

“Have you lived here all your life?”

Beleg hesitated. “In a way,” he answered at last.

“Why do you live in the forest rather than in a town or on a farm?”

“Because I am waiting for my friend to come. And I think he would look for me in a forest like this.” Beleg crossed his legs so that he would be in a more comfortable position, and his eyes smiled when Manwise crossed his legs exactly the same.

“Is he an elf too? Your friend?” Manwise wondered.

“No, he is a man, a very tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes.”

“As tall as you?”

“Taller.” Manwise’s mouth dropped open. Beleg was at least three times as tall as himself, and he could not imagine anything taller. Beleg smiled.

“Where is he now?” Manwise asked at last.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in many years.”

“How old is he? I might have seen him.”

“I doubt you have. It was thousands of years ago that I knew him.”

“Thousands?” Manwise gasped. “Then you _are_ in the old stories! You must be! They do say elves live forever.”

“Forever?” Beleg repeated softly, his hand straying upwards to his neck. “Is there an elf named Beleg in a story you have heard?” he asked in a low voice.

“No, none that I have heard. But there must be one somewhere, if you have lived so long!” Beleg winced slightly, but he shrugged.

“I was never very important,” he said. “I was never royalty, or a hero, or anything like that. And it was so long ago that I’m sure most people have forgotten all about it.”

“If it was so long ago, is your friend…dead, then?”

“Yes, I have been told so. But some say he’ll be back, and I hope they’re right.”

“I do too. I want you to see him again.” For a while both of them sat and looked out from under the cloak, watching the rain falling. Then Beleg stirred.

“I think perhaps we ought to take you to the gate now,” he said. “Your father and mother are worried for you, I’m sure.”

“I suppose so,” said Manwise, and sighed.

“Are you the only child in your family?” Beleg asked as they stood up.

“No, I have two sisters. They both have golden hair, which is something that not many—why what is it?” Manwise asked in concern, looking up at Beleg, who had the strangest look on his face.

“Nothing…n-nothing,” Beleg stammered. “Go on.”

“The older one is my twin. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No,” replied Beleg, “no. Not really.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I never had any.”

Manwise frowned in confusion. “How are you alive then?”

“That is a long question to answer,” replied Beleg softly, “and one that would be hard for a hobbit to understand. But now come.”

The elf was strangely quiet as they made their way back through the forest. After a while the rain ended; and only a couple of minutes after that, there appeared through the dark tree-trunks an even darker smudge. It was the Hedge. Manwise could even see the gate, with the lost path running straight towards it. Beleg stopped and knelt down. With the corner of his cloak he rubbed away the streaks of mud on Manwise’s face as best he could.

“There!” he said. “Now if you ever get lost in this forest again, just call for me; and if I hear you I’ll come and bring you back home again.”

“You’re not coming back through the gate with me?”

“No, not today. I wouldn’t want to frighten everyone.”

“Can’t you at least tell me more about your friend?”

“Not now. If I see you again I’ll be glad to tell you more. I’ve seen hardly anyone for a long time, and I’ve missed having someone to talk to. But you’ve been lost for a while and I don’t want to worry your mother and father and your two golden-haired sisters. Now go!” And with this he gave Manwise a gentle push in the direction of the gate. After a couple of steps Manwise turned around. But Beleg was no longer there. He had disappeared. With a sigh, Manwise plodded to the gate and tugged it open.

Beleg watched from high in one of the trees, and as the gate shut he dropped his glance. It had been a long time, but the frank questions and honest sympathy of the young hobbit, and even the ready tears, had brought all the memories back at once.

He hoped he would see him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Beleg has spotty knowledge of what happened in Middle Earth after he died. He also doesn’t know what is remembered in legend and what isn’t. I blame this fact on him living in the Old Forest. He’d be getting all his intel from Tom Bombadil, who as we know is a bit careless about keeping up with the times.


End file.
